


The Bad Friend

by missdibley



Series: The Bad Friend [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, NSFW, PWP, actor!tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Lydia is disappointed that her best friend June didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of her favorite actor during their brief holiday in London.So June would be ecstatic to learn that Lydia actually bumps into him on her last day in the city, mere minutes after June left for the airport, right? RIGHT?!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A friend asked for a smutty drabble so of course I sent her this. So who's the bad friend now, huh? :)

“He’s not coming.”

“He’s not coming.”

“But we came all this way.”

“That’s right, we did.”

“And it’s my last night in town.”

“Yes, it is.”

“He should be here.”

“He really should.”

“Drink?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Lydia Alger looked around the quiet pub where she and her best friend, June Frehling, sat surrounded by shopping bags. In the corner, an older couple stared at the wall while their gin and tonics sweated onto the table at which they sat. A young woman with spindly legs had just taken her glass of pinot noir into the garden after casting a disapproving glance at Lydia and June.  _ Tourists, _ she had sniffed.

Lydia scowled at the young woman, then turned her attention back to June. She was disappointed for her best friend.

June who had dreamt of coming to England as a wistful teenager. June who had studied English literature in college. June who became enamored of a certain handsome actor who supposedly lived near the pub where they sat. June who sat back and frowned at the empty wine glass in front of her.

Lydia hoisted her glass. “We came all the way here, and I end up drinking Goose Island.”

June snorted. “You’ll be home next week. You can drink all the Goose Island you want then.”

Lydia nodded. “I wish you weren’t going home tomorrow.”

“Same.” June rubbed her chin, not noticing when she smudged a tiny bit of her magenta lipstick into her skin. “But Judd’s been home alone with the kids all week.”

“And you’ve got to give them their presents.” Lydia peered at one of June’s bags. “Exactly how many t-shirts did you get them from the National Gallery, anyway?”

June smirked. “We needed the matching double-decker shirts for the Christmas card.”

Lydia emptied her glass, smacking her lips when she set it down. “Ready to go?”

June looked around the pub, smiling at the gleaming brass fixtures on the bar, and the framed vintage posters that hung on plum colored walls. A young man on his way to the toilets caught her eye, for he was tall, broad-shouldered but slim in the hips, and wore his ginger hair a bit longer than was fashionable. But when he returned, he didn’t have the high brow or the patrician nose or the serious blue eyes of the actor her husband joked was her internet boyfriend. Looking across the table at Lydia, she was grateful for her best friend’s company, and indulge what now felt to June like a brief spell of teenage infatuation.

“Come on, bestie,” June said, getting to her feet. “If we hurry, we can watch  _ Celebrity Big Brother _ while I pack.”

* * *

Lydia loved June but as soon as morning arrived, and June climbed into an Uber bound for Gatwick, Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. After four madcap days of sightseeing and lurking in the actor’s neighborhood, she could be alone. Pad naked around the AirBNB. Use the bathroom with the door open. Leave a cup in the kitchen sink without June immediately pouncing upon it to wash up.

Lydia was spending one last day in London before getting the mid-morning Eurostar to Paris, and then the overnight Thello train to Venice. A itinerary too romantic for a single woman, perhaps, but she didn’t care. She felt free to do and go as she pleased. Unburdened, and light, and ready to take on the day.

Or she would as soon as she got some proper coffee into her system.

Down the block, around one corner and then another, and there it was. The annoyingly pretentious hipster cafe she and June had made the mistake of visiting on their first day. Lydia could have sworn she felt the temperature drop as soon as she and June bumbled in, looking out of their element along the too serious customers who would have sneered at the tourists had they bothered to look up from their avocado toast. Lydia hardened herself, returning the barista’s bored look with a defiant tilt of her chin as she ordered a demi-cap for June and a long espresso for herself. As soon as they had exited with their drinks, the two friends exchanged frowns of disappointment and embarrassment.

They got their morning coffees from the Costa up the road after that.

But for her last London morning, Lydia was feeling contrary. She often did after slights both large and small, and the pretentious hipster coffee episode had been gnawing at her for some time. Who cared if she and June were obvious tourists, mere visitors chastised for straying out of the confines of zone 1? If she wanted to spend five American dollars on a coffee drink that barely fit into a tablespoon, who were these hipster assholes to deny her? Lydia wondered if she should get a t-shirt that read MAKE AMERICA CAFFEINATED AGAIN but immediately understood that might have been, well, dick-ish.

“It’s just coffee, for fucks sake. Get a move on, and  _ go _ ,” she muttered to herself.

It was quiet, and this time the shop and its denizens just sort of hummed along. It was warm, a relief from the cold damp outside. Lydia made eye contact with an elegant woman who held a baby in her arms. When Lydia scrunched up her nose at the child, the baby squirmed pleasantly and the woman’s eyes lit up as she nodded back at Lydia.

Up at the counter stood the same barista from the first day. If she remembered Lydia, she didn’t give herself away. She simply looked tired, organizing a pile of change that her last patron had left in terms of payment. Seeing the pile, and recognizing the  _ Seriously, dude, you paid for a two pound drink with five pence pieces, WTF? _ look in the young woman’s eyes, Lydia tutted in sympathy.

“I hope whoever it was who left that at least had the decency to order quickly and go.”

The barista smiled ruefully. “He asked for the drink to be remade three times before he deemed it acceptable.”

Lydia grimaced. “American?”

The barista actually giggled.  _ “German.” _

Lydia practically beamed as she ordered her coffee and croissant, and the barista smiled back as she accepted a single five pound note. Out on the sidewalk, the morning fog was beginning to burn off. Lydia couldn’t wait to text June about the nice visit to the coffee shop. Trying to juggle her coffee and her drink, she fumbled for and then dropped her phone on the sidewalk. As she was about to crouch down and retrieve it, a warm, slightly nasal voice called to her.

“Oh, please. Let me fetch that for you.”

Lydia froze, her eyes seeing but not quite believing a tall shadow that fell on the pavement in front of her. A long, elegant hand plucking her iPhone, only to hold in front of her while she looked at it but said nothing.

“Pardon? Madame?”

Lydia looked up and it was just as she feared. For there stood Tom Hiddleston, in the firm and impossibly handsome flesh, smiling sweetly at her.

Before Lydia could speak, the soft  _ ping _ of a message as it popped up on the phone’s screen interrupted. She couldn’t read it, for it was upside down.

Which meant that it was rightside up as Tom happened to notice the message. He couldn’t help noticing what it said. He had the same phone himself, same  _ ping _ of arrival. He bit his lip, then proffered it closer.

“Lydia?” He prompted. “It’s for you.”

Lydia looked at the message. It was from June, and it read:

**< sooooo glad u came - ur the best bff>**

Lydia took her phone back, meaning to just sort of let Tom drop it into her waiting palm. Instead he cupped her hand from below with his free hand, cradling it while he pressed her phone into her palm then gently curled her fingers around with with the other. Mere moments, seconds really. But it was enough.

For the knot in Lydia’s stomach to become warm. To feel a spark when Tom touched her once, and then again. And for fire to bloom in her chest and in her face, on the nape of her neck and between her legs.

It was bad enough that she had not only met but actually touched her best friend’s celebrity crush.

It was made worse by the fact that he was eyeing her. Eye fucking her in fact.

What made it unforgivable was that Lydia returned that same gaze.

Of course she was hot. Lydia was in hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Lydia get to know each other a little better after (literally) running into each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a (too) short update that is super overdue. Sorry. :)

_ “You don’t know when you’ll be here again.” _

That had been June’s refrain throughout their time together in London. Whenever Lydia was debating whether to splurge on a souvenir, or when she was inclined to walk too quickly by the Turners and the Constables at The National Gallery, there was June encouraging her. There was no excuse not to do a thing. Eat the biscuit. Buy the perfume. Take the tour. Not when every experience was an adventure meant to be savored, committed to memory almost as soon as it happened.

So what, if anything, could be made of this? Lydia didn’t expect to bump into Tom. Not after four days of hovering at the periphery of what she and June had supposed was his life. She was relieved to have been thwarted in their unspoken mission. Lydia was ready to move on, and leave him to it.

Until she dropped her phone.

And when she did, Tom appeared to pick it up.

He returned it. Looked at her. Spoke words she barely remembered, in dulcet tones she’d never forget. And the look in his eyes when he touched her…

_ “You don’t know when you’ll be here again.” _

_ Here. _

June had been talking about London in general.

Wherever their sensible walking shoes had taken them.

_ Here _ covered many places, Lydia was certain of that.

She was less clear, however, on whether or not it applied to her bed back at the AirBNB. The bed which now contained Tom Hiddleston who lay on his back, breathless and smiling. Lydia sat astride him, just as breathless as he.

“Here,” he murmured, sliding his hands up from her hips to her chest. “Allow me.”

Lydia bowed forward slightly, closing her eyes as she felt his hands push her sweater up before pulling it off. Tom deposited it gently on the floor, where his own jumper had recently been deposited. Two identical dark blue tops removed to reveal two identically flushed chests. Lydia glanced down at her bra, sighing of relief when she saw that it was made of lace.

While Tom was still wearing his jeans, albeit with the top button undone, Lydia was already in her underpants. It was the first thing to come off. It had to be for Tom had stumbled and spilled her espresso down the front of her skirt. Or did she trip, seemingly on nothing? The liquid wasn’t hot, but Tom still exclaimed over her. Apologized profusely and offered to get it cleaned. When Lydia refused the offer, saying she’d just run back to the rented flat, he paused.

_ “Is it far?” _

_ “No. Just around that corner, then another.” _

_ “Well, why don’t I walk you there. At least to the second corner. Make sure you arrive safely.” _

_ “Okay.” _

At the second corner, Lydia reassured him it was only a few yards down to a semi-detached house with a bright red door. She even pointed it out to him.

_ “Which house?” _

_ “That one. The one with the red door.” _

_ “Don’t think I’ve seen this one before.” _

_ “Don’t you live around here?” _

_ “Don’t you?” _

_ “It’s an AirBNB. Me and a girlfriend were just on holiday. She went home this morning.” _

_ “Oh?” _

_ “And I leave tomorrow for Venice.” _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “Show me that door again.” _

So she did. First the door, and then the stairs that lay beyond it. The second floor flat at the top. June’s bedroom with the neatly made bed.

And Lydia’s room, where the unmade bed was big enough for Tom to plop down on it. He did it almost without thinking, helping himself to a tour of the flat while Lydia went to the bathroom to pee and throw the skirt into the washing machine. She startled him when she appeared in the doorway, rubbing her thighs together but making no move to cover herself.

_ “You took off your skirt.” _

_ “It’s in the washing machine.” _

_ “Were you going to…?” _

_ “I think I’ve got another skirt in that suitcase…” _

_ “Is it warm in here?” _

_ “Maybe a little humid.” _

_ “Skin’s a bit clammy.” _

_ “Want me to open a window?” _

_ “No.” _

Tom removed his jumper, emerging from it to find Lydia standing in front of him. He lay back, and she knelt in his lap. She unbuttoned his jeans, and then he removed her sweater.

Lydia shivered, and so Tom opened his arms. She walked her hands up the bed on either side of him, waiting until he dropped his hands on the small of her back to lie down, relax her body into his and press her parted lips to his open mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Tom get to know each other.

Tom sucked inward, breathing in the warm coffee breath coming from Lydia’s mouth that was pressed ever so gently to his. He resisted tasting her, reining in his tongue while she made sounds. What he thought were eager murmurs was actually a thought expressed in a few shaky words.

“Hmm?” He sounded as languid as he felt. “What was that?”

“Well, that escalated quickly,” Lydia whispered. Her arms were now clasped between them, keeping a token distance even as her fingers palpated his chest.

“I reckon it did.” Tom nipped at the corner of her mouth.“ But then…”

“Hmm?” Lydia turned her face to one side, offering the soft curve of her jaw for him to nibble.

“But then it wasn’t me who returned from the bathroom in just her knickers.”

“It’s not like I had a clean skirt in there with me.”

“You could have retrieved it from here  _ before _ you went in.”

“I suppose I could have done that.”

“Glad you didn’t.” Tom slid his hands down her back, rounding the soft curve of her ass before clutching at her thighs.

Lydia rolled her hips, moaning when Tom pulled her closer. She liked the way he felt underneath her, long and lithe. Not as skinny as he appeared when clothed, his chest was firm and when she reached between them Lydia found the flesh of his abdomen to be soft. She liked stroking the sparse trail of hair that descended from his navel, liked feeling the dip of his stomach as it reacted to her touch. His jeans were unbuttoned, but not yet discarded. Instead, they sort of worked slowly around him, revealing jersey boxer briefs that slipped up and down when she grasped him through his clothes.

Tom gulped, but said nothing. He watched as she slid down. Saw the back of her head when she turned away from him, to focus on her exploration. How her black hair tumbled over her bare shoulders. It was frizzy, like his tended to be if he didn’t tame it with a little hair product. When she began to stroke him, Tom let his head fall back onto the mattress. He stretched his arms above his head and closed his eyes, following her progress by sound, and by feeling. The mattress sank in the places where she knelt, one last dip at the bottom as she slid to the floor. There were her fingers again, gently scratching at his hip bones before they curled around the waist of his jeans to drag them down his legs. His feet hung just over the edge of the mattress, and they kicked when Lydia tickled them, fingertips dancing along his arches and insteps.

Tom looked in time to see Lydia remove her bra. She flinched when she caught him looking. But the longer he looked, the more she relaxed. Lydia ran her hands down from her breasts to her belly, then back to her hips. Her eyes met his, then swept down his own naked body until they came to a stop on his cock. It stood up and away, just a little, from his stomach.

“Do you have something?” Lydia asked. When Tom shook his head, she shrugged. “We’ll make do.”

“Making do” started with Lydia crawling onto the bed, insinuating herself between Tom’s legs. He scooted up so she had room enough to lie between them, head resting on his left thigh while her hand gently squeezed the inner flesh of his right. Her eyelids fluttered, the dark lashes casting the tiniest of shadows on her cheeks. Lydia licked her palm, once and then again and again. Enough that when she reached for him, the feeling of her warm, moist hand on his flesh felt almost like a shock. But a pleasant one. Her thumb gently caressed his frenulum, and that was it. Just to start. Lydia held him, feeling the pulse of him until it seemed that her heart joined its rhythm.

For someone who had enticed a handsome actor to her bed, when she had only run out to buy coffee, Lydia felt rather calm. When she smiled, Tom shifted.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered. “Isn’t this usually how your coffee runs end up?”

And when Tom laughed, Lydia felt warmth bloom in her chest. She nipped at his thigh, marking a trail of tiny bruises when she wiggled up. She returned her attention to his cock, watching how it grew darker and bigger though she had not done anything more than gently stroke him. She couldn’t go much faster, not without something more to slick him up.

Lydia freed him from her grasp, freeing her hand to push his right thigh further out. She moved up, resting her upper arms on the tops of his legs while her hands came to rest on his hips. Tom’s cock bobbed, moving in a lazy sort of way. Lydia didn’t make a move to take him in, swallow the head while his eyes burned bright and clear. Instead she waited until it tapped against her lips, almost by accident. Before Tom could exhale, for he had been holding his breath, she flicked her tongue out and licked at the head of his cock before sucking it into her mouth.

He tasted like skin, and then a faintly bitter tang when the clear fluid that had been leaking from him hit the back of her tongue. Lydia relaxed her throat and swallowed, moving her lips and creating suction though she did not take him further. She was glad for the sip of water she stole from the bathroom tap, a reassuring move that seemed to make it easier for her to make spit. To drool enough so that, when she would release him, delicate threads of spit hung between her eager lips and his insistent cock.

“Oh…” Tom breathed. “You’re so good.” It was all he could manage. After that, nothing but groans as he bit at the air in frustration. A sensation with which Tom was only too familiar.

It was dangerous, he knew. To look at strangers with more than a passing glance, hunger making his eyes dark. To strike up anything more than bland, innocuous conversation with passersby and the occasional well wisher. He was aware, he always knew when someone would sneak a picture of him as he walked down the street, or boarded a train. Tom had grown accustomed to putting on blinders, protecting himself as a way to maintain some illusion of privacy.

Then a woman dropped her phone. And he, being well-mannered and gracious and, well,  _ there _ , stooped down to retrieve it for her.

The owner of the phone had black hair and a slightly misanthropic air. Lips tugged up in a crooked smile that gave the distinct impression that she had just gotten away with something. Dark eyes, and freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. She was shorter than he usually went for. Perhaps not as busty. He couldn’t really discern the shape of her hips or the length of her legs under her dowdy skirt and dark jumper.

Even so, their eyes met and he was assailed. Images of them together — Tom kneeling between her thighs, Lydia riding his cock. Tom could almost feel her soft breast in between his lips, licking the nipple to hardness while he fucked her with his fingers. He heard her laughing as he nuzzled her, his untidy beard tingly against her own face.

But before those visions could be made real, he had to survive the slow teasing. Her wet mouth and the soft tongue…

“Fuck!” He almost jumped. “What did you…?”

Lydia pretended to pout. “What? Like you’ve never given head using the  _ underside _ of your tongue?”

Tom laughed, shaking his head. “That was…”

“Want me to do it again?”

“Yes!” Tom yelped, his voice cracking.

Lydia licked her lips. “Okay,” she said solemnly. “But you’ll be tested on it later.”

Tom smirked, then let his head fall back. He closed his eyes. “Of course,” he whispered. “Of course.”

* * *

Overcast skies made for unusual light. Even so, Tom was grateful for it as he observed Lydia up close.

Now he was sitting in the lounge, a faded blue towel set under his naked body. He held her close, one arm wrapped low around her back. His other arm was trapped between them, his hand cupped against her as he fingered her clit slowly. Whenever she made a sound, gasped in his ear, Tom would stop. He would only resume his ministrations when her whimpering subsided.

Soft bruises could be found in the tenderest places, each sucked into existence by his thin but strong lips. He had quite a few of his own, almost all in places that would be easily concealed by clothing.

The thing he had not been able to imagine in that brief moment of their first meeting was how Lydia tasted. This was the purpose of their current embrace. To make her come by his hand, not long after she had made him come with her mouth. Tom couldn’t resist tasting her, like a cook lifting the soup to his lips repeatedly while it simmered away on the stove.

Tangy, more bitter than sweet. Tom sucked at his fingers, licking the tips before stroking her again. The closer he got her to climax, the more intense her flavor became. Salty and rich. Perfect at last, and so he pumped his fingers faster. His thumb was stiff and fast as it swept back and forth over her clit. Lydia bucked, crying out as Tom finally let her come apart in his arms.

He laid her out, finding room to curl up beside her. A soft blanket hung over the back of the sofa, and he pulled it over the two of them. He watched her face, and traced the contours of her neck and her collarbone.

“That was…” Lydia turned to him. “Who  _ are _ you?”

“Tom,” he replied, with a smile. “My name’s Tom.”

“I… I actually knew that,” confessed Lydia.

“Oh?” Tom stiffened.

She smiled ruefully. “Yeah.”

“I’m not usually…”

“Neither am I,” Lydia replied, shrugging. “Promise you won’t tell?”

“Tell who? Tell what?” Tom’s eyebrows went up slightly in the center.

“That I’ll bang a hot stranger with come fuck me eyes even after he spills coffee all over me?”

Tom laughed. He couldn’t help it. “I can do that.”

“Thank you.” Lydia kissed his shoulder. “And I promise not to tell anybody that it’s the ones who look like boy scouts that fuck like maniacs?”

“Was it  _ that _ maniacal?” There was a burr in Tom’s voice.

“Are you saying it wasn’t?” Lydia prodded.

Tom considered. The situation and the naked woman over whom he had slung his body. “I’m saying…” He grinned, then moved in closer, and whispered in her ear. “I’m going to need you to show me that trick with the underside of your tongue.” He kissed her earlobe. “Again.”

“And why would I indulge you like that?” Lydia whispered, reaching for his cock.

“I never got that coffee I went for this morning.” Tom kissed her. “You owe me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

It had been June’s idea for her to travel to Venice by train. It was easy, Lydia found, to take the tube to St. Pancras. Get the Eurostar to Paris, where she had time enough to enjoy a long lunch before the evening train to Venice.

There was some confusion at the station, though. She scanned her ticket, which set off a funny sound at the barrier. The attendant asked her to stand aside, then sorted her out. He escorted her up the ramp that led straight to the premier class cars, and to a window seat, one of two that faced each other over a table.

Lydia got her phone out and began to type.

_ <what the fuck did you do> _

**< u on the train>**

_ <i distinctly remember buying a ticket in coach> _

**< i may have upgraded u - my treat>**

_ <whyyyyyyyyyy> _

**< ur my best friend - i felt bad u had to spend ur last day sick in bed>**

_ <oh> _

To herself, Lydia muttered, “I’m going to hell.:

**< i cant believe u got a cold>**

_ <its the damp> _

**< i hope you got some rest>**

Lydia felt an ache in her lower belly, no doubt from when Tom bent her over the kitchen table and ate her out from behind.

_ <i did> _

Lydia felt herself jostled as a boarding passenger walked past. It was mild, she hardly noticed, but still there was an apology. A murmured “Pardon.” that made Lydia freeze. She looked up, only to find Tom looking at her with a surprised, delighted, expression on his face.

“I thought you were going to Venice,” Tom said.

“I’m doing the scenic route,” Lydia said. “Overnight train from Paris to Venice.”

“Oh?” Tom checked his ticket, then put his bag up on the luggage rack right above Lydia. He flopped into the seat opposite, facing her. “I’ve got a business meeting in Paris.”

“Oh.” Lydia’s phone buzzed but she ignored it. There was a warm knot in her stomach that demanded her focus.

“When does your train leave?” Tom asked, a little too innocently.

“Um, 7:30 tonight.”

Tom nodded. “I’m back to London on the 7:13 myself.”

“What time’s your meeting?” Lydia asked, like an idiot.

“11:00.” Tom bit his lip, tried not to laugh. “I gave myself some time to go for a long lunch at my favorite brasserie. Visit the Musée d'Orsay and pick up macarons.”

“That sounds nice,” Lydia gulped.

“Your first time in Paris?” Tom asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe when I’m done with my meeting…” Tom said carefully. “We can go for coffee.”

Before Lydia could bite out a reply, and curse herself, another message from June made her phone buzz. She checked it, then promptly coughed.

**< have a great time - bet u meet somebody>**


End file.
